


weak

by danganronpa69



Series: weak au [1]
Category: DanganRonpa 69: There’s MORE goddamn hope!?
Genre: (...for the deaths in the fic), Gen, Guilt, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Island Mode (Dangan Ronpa), Mastermind!Conductor, Overdosing, Post-Canon, Self-Hatred, Spoilers, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Trauma, Vomiting, WE HAVE LOTS OF FUN HERE, for the entire fic thru ch5 class trial, we have fun here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26581900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danganronpa69/pseuds/danganronpa69
Summary: The Conductor was weak to fall to that time piece.And now he was going to pay the price.
Series: weak au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978471
Kudos: 11





	weak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lennardd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lennardd/gifts).



> major TW for everything listed in the tags!
> 
> so basically i read another fic that was like... character is about to overdose but another character stops them before they can ingest the pills. and i thought: hm! but what if they did
> 
> so this exists now
> 
> i will pepper in mastermind!conductor with a hint of island mode and a dash of BROTP cond and luigi. smackerdoodledoo and you got this fic
> 
> includes my super special interpretation of what i think a mm!cond situation could look like
> 
> also fun fact i started this as an apology for not being able to join the first dr69 discord call
> 
> ok that’s about it time to die

Silence.

The room was dead silent, save for the Conductor’s soft breathing and the clatter of the pills inside the bottle he held in his hand. He turned the bottle over carefully, examining its contents intensely, as though they contained some deep, hidden secret to solving all his problems.

Well, that wouldn’t have exactly been a lie, as his other hand rested on a suicide note. It had prior been equally examined; looked over and read over and over again with the same rigor as he did now. Every tiny detail on the paper, every stroke of his pencil — it had to be perfect. He’d re-written it at least a dozen times over. This time, he hoped, it was good enough.

The soft overhead light of the cottage was almost sickly in its sweetness. The way it coated everything left nothing to be hidden — nothing left behind in the shadows. The Conductor had many times considered flicking it off, but he didn’t want his body to be found in the dark, and there wasn’t a lamp around. So the light stayed on, as blinding as it was.

For what had to have been the eightieth time, the Conductor read over the label on the bottle of pills. They were his antidepressants, the same make of the ones he had neglected to take when he lived back in Dead Bird Studios time and time again. He wasn’t sure how exactly they even got them here. Wherever ‘here’ was, exactly.

The Conductor paused turning the bottle in his hand for a moment, breaking his concentration and looking up at the room around him. His gaze landed on a glowing digital alarm clock. 3:56 AM. Not too early that someone could be awake, yet not too late that an early bird could find his body before he’d be completely dead. Perfect.

He took his eyes off the clock and looked around at the rest of the room.

According to the survivors, it was Nagito who had suggested they come here. A calm, tropical island, with just enough cottages for everyone to stay in while they waited for the ‘dead’ to wake up.

He found the whole situation to be awfully strange, really.

The Conductor had revealed himself as the mastermind, as he had been the entire time. The killing game was an elaborate set-up for a movie, with ambitions to be the best one he’d made yet. The characters, the spectacular executions, _everything_ was purely to entertain the masses. When the final class trial arrived, the Conductor was ready for his grand reveal. After he had revealed himself, the remaining students were able to trace the mysteries of the school back to a single source: a time piece. A small hourglass with the ability to warp the dimensions. Quite the odd little thing it was, to have the power to bring so many people from across the universes to meet together.

The Conductor _hated it._

He hated how it attacked him in his time of weakness, when he was contemplating whether to attempt another suicide. He hated how it twisted his mind, fooling him into believing it was the solution to all of his problems. He hated what it told him about creating the most incredible movie the world had ever seen. But most of all, he hated it for convincing him to create that damned “killing game.” For desensitizing him to the utter carnage happening right before his eyes. For placing him in control of the puppet strings of that sick “game.”

The part of him that retained its sanity was grateful to his classmates for figuring it out.

It was around then that the Conductor finally admitted defeat. The survivors earned their victory. He deserved his loss. In his final moments before pressing the punishment button for the last time, he retrieved the time piece and handed it over to the survivors. He told them everything he could muster about the thing and what it had done to him, not as justification for his actions, but as a warning. He then gave them one last task: reverse everything. Undo the killing game, and bring everyone who had died back from the dead.

His final wish before execution.

Execution…

…

He hadn’t expected to wake up in a hospital bed what seemed like mere seconds later. In fact, he found himself wishing he hadn’t woken up at all.

The survivors later told him what had happened: they were able to bring everyone back safely, but the ones who had died were each stuck in a coma. He was apparently the first to wake up. He was surprised they even brought him back at all, after what he’d done to them.

And then there was the tropical island. Nagito had been the one to transport them all there, using the time piece, apparently citing that it’d be the perfect place to wait for everyone to wake up before they used the time piece one last time to send everyone back to their homes. Which, considering the lad, the plan surprisingly sounded somewhat sane. Despite them having absolutely no clue where this “tropical island” even was.

And so, there he was. Awake. Alive. _Blisteringly_ so.

He clutched the pill bottle a little tighter.

The Conductor had hardly even left his room at all during their stay on the island. Apart from his very first moments waking up in the hospital ~~(and a few trips back to the latter to treat some “injuries”)~~ , the only places he’d ever been were the movie theatre — the movies of which were no good — and the hotel for food. He picked up his breakfast early in the mornings, skipped lunch, and ate dinner far away from everyone else. Exactly how it was meant to be.

It wasn’t like anyone wanted him around. After everything that had happened with the “killing game,” who would? ...Well, the only person who he knew for certain _hated_ him was Ayano, because the glares he got from her were possibly sharper than he’d ever given anyone. Everyone else was… a grey area.

Nagito never really changed around him. The Conductor only bothered to inquire why once, to which he responded something to the effect of ‘the movie was filmed to bring hope to the masses, right?’ They hadn’t spoken since, and while the Conductor was never officially ‘forgiven’ by Nagito, he could assume how the latter felt.

Parappa was the first to really make an attempt to forgive him. The boy knocked on his door one bleak evening and quietly asked, without meeting his gaze, if he could come in to visit. For a moment, the Conductor considered shutting the door or shooing him away, but he didn’t want so much as to imagine the boy’s heartbroken expression. So, he opened the door a little more and let him in.

After crossing the room to sit on the small sofa, Parappa began to ramble a little with stories of people who had been corrupted by some external force, similarly to him. After spending a little too long on a story about noodles(?), he attempted to summarize by saying that he knew Conductor was a good person, deep down. He even forgave him, too, albeit hesitantly.

The Conductor only accepted his forgiveness because he knew it would be futile to try and argue with Parappa. He would be too stubbornly optimistic to give in.

Some days after that came Luigi, whom the Conductor decided he _could_ argue with when the former attempted to forgive him.

Because he didn’t deserve it.

He never would.

…

The Conductor snapped back to reality, attention once again focused on the bottle of medicine in his hand. He’d done his research on these specific tablets a bit beforehand, and he’d discovered the lethal dosage was about 40. With only slightly shaky hands, the Conductor popped the lid off the bottle, poured a few into his hand, and began counting.

It took a minute, but he eventually reached number 40. _Just about enough for two small handfuls,_ the Conductor thought as he examined the small, round, dusty copper tablets. _Just about perfect._ He carefully separated them into two halves before scooping the first half up into one hand. 

And then he stopped.

For a moment, the Conductor simply… _stared_ at his hand. Rather, at the medicine it held. Just barely, a quiet thought grazed his mind:

_Do you really want to go through with this?_

He figured he must have startled his other thoughts into silence, because for what was possibly a full minute, he couldn’t even bring himself to think up a response.

Then he remembered.

The corpses of his lost companions flashed in his vision. Krabs, dead with gruesome head trauma. Mario, squashed underneath Monokuma’s foot. Dedede, hanging from the ceiling. Ashley, smashed by the Monokuma book. Miku and 2D, both left to bleed out and die. Teto, crushed by falling stage equipment. Sans, stabbed in the chest. Fluttershy, with a slit throat and slit hooves. Brian, who shot himself in the head—

He brought the first handful to his mouth and downed them.

⁂

After the first handful, the second was easy.

He finished them off with a bit of water from a water bottle he’d snatched back at the hotel a while back.

It was done.

The deed was done.

He checked the clock.

4:01 AM.

He’d be dead within the next two hours, assuming everything went according to plan.

The Conductor glanced back down at his hands, noticing with a bit of disdain that he was trembling. Gently, he placed one hand on top of the other, as if it would provide some kind of false reassurance.

There, there. 

It’ll be over soon.

⁂

Every second that passed felt like an eternity, and even though it had only been about a half an hour, the Conductor felt as though he might as well have already been decomposing there, sitting on his bed with his back against the wall. Just as before, his left hand rested on his suicide note while his right held the bottle of antidepressants. The difference now was that he couldn’t tell whether his thoughts were going too fast for him to keep up with or if he wasn’t thinking at all. It might as well have been both, for all he knew.

He vacantly wondered (or maybe it was a single thought he could catch?) when the side effects of his overdosage would kick in.

Did he even take enough tablets? Would he need to take more?

He held the bottle up to read the label again, just in case he’d missed something in his previous hundred times reviewing it, when—

_Knock knock._

The Conductor froze.

If his thoughts weren’t going a mile a minute before, they sure were now.

_Someone is awake._

_Someone is awake and Did you lock the door? and Just down the whole bottle and Someone is awake?! and How is someone and Hide the note and Answer the door and Lock the door and Who is awake and SWALLOW THE WHOLE BOTTLE and Run and hide and Why is someone awake and How did they know I was awake and Did you lock the door? and—_

_Knock knock knock._

In his dumbfounded shock, the Conductor pocketed the bottle of medicine and his suicide note with shaky hands. He turned to face the door, gaping at it silently like a deer in headlights.

Someone was at the door.

And something told him that that someone wasn’t going to go away easily.

But the Conductor found he couldn’t move. He simply sat there, frozen in shock. Listening to whoever was awake at this ungodly hour pound on the door. A part of him hoped they would go away, but—

“Hello?”

Oh.

Oh no.

“Conductor, are you awake?”

_Oh no._

His intuition was proven to be correct. This visitor _wasn’t_ going to go away easily.

If it were Parappa, he could scare him off with relative ease.

If it were Nagito, he could simply exploit that inferiority complex he always went on about.

Ayano would never even visit him in the first place.

Of all the people to be awake at this hour, it was—

The door opened.

_The door opened?!_

Suddenly, panic coursed through the Conductor’s mind. The door had… opened? He thought he locked it. He could have _sworn_ he had locked it! There was no way that he… forgot something? He had to have been dreaming. He _was_ dreaming. He was already unconscious and dead and this was a dream. There was no possible way that, through all his meticulous work, he had forgotten the most simple task of _locking the pecking door,_ right?

A head popped through the door frame, scanning the room until their eyes focused on the Conductor. Somewhat timidly, the rest of them stepped into the room, rubbing their eyes slightly.

“Con...ductor?” Luigi mumbled.

_Oh peck this._

This was, by far, the worst thing that could have happened. He was overdosing. And, of all people, _Luigi_ just walked in. He needed to get him _out._ And fast. He didn’t know when the symptoms would start to kick in.

And so he yelled.

“Get. Out,” the Conductor snarled, raising his voice and pinning his ears flat against his head.

Luigi flinched a little, clearly taken aback by the Conductor’s sudden flare of anger, but it didn’t take him long to recover.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly. “It’s so late… er, maybe early? I don’t know…”

“Did you not pecking hear me?” The Conductor was furious now. “I said. Get. _Out.”_

“N-no, something’s clearly wrong, I can tell—“

“You can’t even offer me the smallest bit of decency and _listen to me?”_ He lowered his voice to a hiss for extra emphasis. “Get _out. Now.”_

Luigi seemed to study the Conductor’s expression for a long moment, as though pondering what to do. The Conductor, on the other hand, never wavered in his angry facade. His teeth remained barred, shoulders hunched, ears flattened. If he even faltered once, the lad would never leave him alone. It was made easier when his “facade” was quickly leaking into his actual emotions. He wouldn’t — no, he _couldn’t_ be found out. He absolutely refused to live a day longer. He couldn’t go on like this. 

Luigi seemed to glance at the door once, then to outside the cottage. For a moment, the Conductor held a bated breath that, if released, would turn into a relieved sigh. He was going to leave. He had to leave. He had to. He was going to walk out the door. He was going to leave. He—

Luigi stepped further into the cottage and shut the door behind him.

⁂

One thing was for sure: Conductor never acted this way. _Never._

He wasn’t doing well, sure; anyone could tell that by the way Conductor had been acting over the course of time he’d been awake. How he went out of his way to isolate himself. How he refused to let himself be forgiven for what he did while corrupted by that “time piece” (even if his actions were unforgivable, they weren’t his). How he was… sleep deprived, apparently.

It was well past 4 AM, and somehow, Conductor was awake. Luigi had just woken up from a nightmare — a typical one about the killing game — and was set to go for a walk to clear his mind when he noticed light shining through Conductor’s windows. And now, this.

Of course, Conductor was brash, and he often lashed out when confronted, but _never_ in this manner before. Luigi was almost certain that not even sleep deprivation could push him to act in the way he was now. He’d never seen Conductor so furious in his life. It was… scary. Terrifying, actually. Not even when he had revealed himself as the mastermind was he as intimidating as he was now. ...Or, maybe it was a close second. But it didn’t matter.

Something was clearly terribly wrong.

And for that, Luigi refused to leave him alone.

So, he closed the door behind him, as quietly and gently as he could. Almost immediately—

“You know what?” Conductor’s words were venomous, and they seemed to sting right into him. “You want to know pecking what?”

With Conductor’s mounting rage, Luigi’s anxiety began to mount as well. Nervously, he leaned against the door for support.

“You’re being an awfully insufferable _bitch_ right now.”

Every single one of Conductor’s words were drenched in acid. Pure hatred oozed right off of them as he emphasized every last syllable. And, as if they were poison-tipped arrows, they struck Luigi right in the chest.

They hurt. Badly.

He couldn’t do anything but gape in shock. Conductor just continued.

“You pecking heard me. You’re being an _insufferable bitch._ God, how can you be so _pecking annoying?_ You can’t even find the decency — the _respect_ — to leave me alone?! No wonder everyone hates you. You _disgust me.”_

He couldn't speak. Couldn’t even move.

For what might have been a split second, Luigi wondered if he saw a small flash of smugness cross Conductor’s face.

No… why would he feel smug in that? Why would he…

Because something was wrong, right? Whatever that something was, it was surely what was making him act this way… right?

“Can you not sleep?” Luigi timidly asked, trying his best to hide the way his voice wavered.

Conductor let out a furious scream.

“THIS IS IT! THIS IS IT _EXACTLY!_ YOU CAN’T JUST _LEAVE SOMEONE ALONE,_ CAN YOU?!”

“Y-you didn’t answer my question—“

“NOTHING’S WRONG! NOTHING’S _PECKING_ WRONG, OKAY?” Conductor yelled, feathers flaring. “YOU JUST NEED TO STOP BEING A PRYING, INSUFFERABLE BITCH!”

Slowly, Luigi crossed the room to sit on the small sofa.

“If everything is really okay, then why are you awake at…” he checked the clock, “...4:34 AM?”

“I guess I could ask the same for you, huh?” Conductor growled. “Let me be the insufferable one for once. Why are _you_ awake at 4:30 AM, Luigi?”

Luigi looked slightly to the side. “Nightmare.”

“Well, would you look at that!” Conductor clapped his hands together in what was clearly fake happiness. “Same here! Are you satisfied now? Is that enough for you? Yes? Then _leave.”_

Suddenly, Luigi perked up. Wait. _That wasn’t right._

Not only did Conductor just waver his final word, his expression also seemed to change. His face was no longer creased with anger, but it was instead… blank. _Oddly_ blank. Almost as though he were caught off guard by something. Luigi made a mental note of it, but ultimately decided not to bring it up.

“If you’d been woken up by a nightmare, why didn’t you just say so in the first place?”

“Can someone not just want their pecking privacy?” And he was back to angry. “Can someone _not_ want to share every detail of their life with some prying peck neck?”

Luigi frowned. “But you’re typically straightforward about these kinds of things…”

“But it’s also 4 AM! Do you really think I’m going to be straightforward with you at 4 A-pecking-M?”

“A-actually, wouldn’t your inhibitions be lowered at such an early hour?”

There was a pause.

“I am going to give you _one last chance,”_ Conductor hissed. “You are going to leave. You are going to leave my cottage _right now.”_ Gradually, his voice began to raise. “You are going to leave my cottage right now, and we’ll never speak of this again. Okay? You got that? You are going to leave my cottage right _pecking now,_ or else I’ll _MAKE YOU-!”_

Conductor was cut off suddenly, looking away from Luigi and gripping the sheets on his bed tightly. It looked as though he was… wincing?

Suddenly, it clicked.

“You’re hurt,” Luigi muttered in mild surprise. Of _course!_ How did he not think of it before? Of _course_ he’d be lashing out like this if he were in pain. And Conductor was never the type to ask for help; in fact, he’d always been the type to oppose it. It made perfect sense.

Conductor didn’t meet his gaze. He was still wincing. 

“A-are you injured? Is it internal? Chronic? Are you sick? Wait here, I’m sure we stocked your bathroom with painkillers!”

Luigi rose from his seat and made a dash to the bathroom. Opening the medical cabinet, he quickly identified the bottle of painkillers, snatched it, and dashed back. Conductor was now vacantly staring into space, hands still tightly gripping the sheets.

“I-I got the painkillers, you have water around here, right?” He glanced around the room, eyes landing on a water bottle resting on a table. He briskly walked over to it, picked it up, and turned back to Conductor. “Here.”

But Conductor didn’t even seem to see them. In fact, he didn’t even appear present at all.

“...Conductor? The painkillers…?”

He… shook his head?

Conductor shook his head, slightly but definitively.

“Y-you’re in pain! You need to—“

“I’m sorry.”

His words were so quiet Luigi could barely make them out.

Luigi paled. “You’re… what? I don’t… I don’t understand…”

He crossed to the bed and sat down beside Conductor. The latter, surprisingly, didn't object. _I’m sorry._ What did he mean by that? Was he apologizing for the insults earlier? He held out the painkillers again, looking up at Conductor as he did so.

“I-if you’re in that much pain, you can’t _not_ take the painkillers. They help, I promise. Or — or do you feel too sick to take them? Conductor?”

Nothing. Luigi lowered the painkillers slightly.

“Conductor? You… can hear me, right?”

Nothing again. Conductor remained staring straight ahead into space. He looked so… detached. His face was oddly pallid, and, as Luigi had just noticed, his knuckles were nearly white with how tightly he clutched the sheets. He was shaking, too. 

Nervously, Luigi placed a hand on one of his. And Conductor’s hand was _cold._ Cold and shaky. In an awkward attempt to keep his hand steady, he gently gripped it, thumb landing just barely on Conductor’s wrist. He slightly adjusted his grip before noticing something else. Pressing his thumb into Conductor’s wrist just a little more, he felt his heart drop.

His heart was beating fast. _Way_ too fast.

Panicked, Luigi returned his gaze to Conductor’s face. He was visibly wincing again. 

“Conductor, we need to get you to the hospital-!”

Conductor _firmly_ shook his head this time before suddenly staggering to his feet. However, it was clear that he could barely keep any _resemblance_ of balance, as he heavily leaned on the walls and countertops as he walked. Luigi wasn’t quite sure where he was walking to, but he seemed determined.

“Hey—“ Luigi rose from where he was sitting, making brisk pace walking after him. “Where are you-?!”

Suddenly, Conductor retched.

Luigi flinched a little, turning away for a moment before noticing he hadn’t actually vomited. At that moment, it clicked where he was heading: the bathroom. He was going to be sick.

“If you’re going to throw up, try and make it to the—“

A small sound that sounded somewhat like a gag sounded from Conductor’s throat before he vomited.

Luigi stumbled backward. “...Shit,” he hissed.

He looked back up at Conductor, subconsciously avoiding looking at the puddle of vomit on the floor in front of the latter. If it were possible, he looked sicker now than ever before — like his knees were going to give out under him any second. Like even the slightest breeze could push him over. In fact, it looked as though he were about to collapse right then—

Luigi quickly ran up behind Conductor, scooping him up from under his shoulders before he could fall forward. Being careful to avoid the vomit splattered in front of them, he dragged Conductor’s half-unconscious body backwards until he could prop him up against his bed’s frame. Stepping back, Luigi knelt down to look at Conductor.

“Are you still awake? Can you hear me?”

There was nothing. Not even a single sign of movement.

“Conductor, please, at least give me a sign?!”

Nothing.

“Please?!”

Luigi was half sobbing now, but there was still no sign from Conductor.

Hell, the only indication he had that the latter was still alive was his subtle breathing.

The world felt like it was crumbling around him.

_What happened?_

Shakily, Luigi rose to his feet and ran to the door. He needed to get help — and fast.

⁂

…

The day was clear and bright, and the breeze was crisp. There were no clouds in the sky whatsoever, making it the perfect day for an outing. But whereas the others might have gone down to the pool or to the beach, the Conductor stayed put inside his cottage, blinds sealed shut. In fact, the Conductor had planned on sleeping the whole day. But, alas, he’d woken from his nap early, around midday. It didn’t matter, of course. It wasn’t like anyone was going to try and visit him.

Or so he thought.

Just as he’d begun to sip on some room temperature coffee from early that morning, the Conductor heard a knock on his door. Although skeptical of his visitor’s intentions, he’d gotten up and answered it.

It was Luigi.

“Um, can I come in? I’d like to talk to you.”

The Conductor blinked. Why was _Luigi_ here? He’d expected Parappa; the boy sometimes came to visit and bring him snacks. But what business did Luigi have with him?

This question bothered him enough that he actually let the lad in.

He didn’t care about the state of his cottage when the other walked in. Who cared if it was glaringly obvious he’d not been taking his antidepressants? Or if his blades were still out on the table? Anyone with common sense should have been able to tell that he wasn’t doing so hot. The state of his cottage would simply further that.

Though neither were the case (he’d remembered to put both away), and Luigi sat down on the Conductor's small sofa as he sat down on the bed.

“Why’re you here?” the Conductor asked. He’d figured he should get the more obvious question out of the way.

Luigi fidgeted with his hands in his lap. “I, uh… wanted to talk about the whole… incident…?”

Oh great. One of _these_ talks.

“Yeah? And what about it? I thought everything was said and done.”

“‘Said and done?’” Luigi looked up at the Conductor and tilted his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I got all your friends killed for the sake of entertainment. I traumatized all of you. And now everyone you loved and lost is in a coma.” The Conductor almost smiled with bitter self-hatred. “There’s not much else to be said, is there?”

Luigi went quiet for a moment. “But… you said the way you behaved had something to do with that ‘time piece,’ right?”

The Conductor frowned now. “Yeah, but what does that matter? I still did unforgivable things to you—“

“I’m not here to forgive what you did,” Luigi said, “I’m asking what that ‘time piece’ did to you.”

“Oh, I see,” the Conductor began, with an air of fake realization, “you want to see if you can excuse my actions because of that damned hourglass, huh?”

“I never said I’d excuse—“

“Listen to yourself.” The Conductor crossed his arms. “Are you really going to try and find excuses for a mass murderer? Someone who traumatized you and your friends?”

“No. You never even answered my original question,” Luigi responded. “How did that hourglass affect you?”

The Conductor closed his eyes and mentally stepped back from the situation for a moment. Luigi wasn’t going to give this up unless he stopped beating around the bush. So, he wouldn’t. He opened his eyes, took a deep breath, and began.

“It lured me in. I found it one day and thought it would be a pretty prop, so I kept it. But then it started whispering in some… strange tongues to me. Messed with my thinking a little. It told me that if I used its power, I could make the best movie yet! So I did.”

Luigi seemed to think for a moment before frowning doubtfully. “I don’t think that’s the end of it.”

“What, are you pretending to be some detective?” the Conductor snapped. “That’s the end of it. The full story. Always has been, always will be.”

“But why did it make you start a killing game?”

“Who said that was the hourglass?” the Conductor retorted, but he was hesitant.

Luigi saw through him immediately. “...It was the hourglass.”

The Conductor looked away for a moment. “It said that in order to create the greatest movie, I’d need the most interesting drama. It put the notion of a killing game into my head. A murderous game where people from across the universes joined together to kill each other… At that point, I was too far in to turn back. I had to agree.”

“What would have happened if you didn’t? Did the hourglass threaten you?”

“...No, it didn’t. But it… I can’t explain it. It was like… for some inexplicable reason… I couldn’t turn back. I just couldn’t. Not even if I wanted to.”

“...So you could say you weren’t in control of your own actions?”

The Conductor’s head suddenly snapped up, expression turning angry.

 _“That’s_ what you were building up to, huh? So you could say that?” he hissed. “You’re trying to forgive me, but I won’t let you.”

“If you weren’t in control—“

“But I could have not let it!” the Conductor yelled. “I could have resisted! Then, this whole thing would never have happened in the first place! You wouldn’t be traumatized, your friends wouldn’t be in comas…”

“Conductor—“

“But I’m _weak!_ I didn’t have the strength to resist the pecking time piece! And that’s completely my fault! If I had just been stronger—“

 _“You were taken advantage of,_ Conductor.”

The Conductor gaped. He was shocked at the utter audacity of Luigi, who stared at him with equally shockingly strong sympathy. 

“The ‘time piece’ took advantage of you when you were weak. So you couldn’t fight back.”

 _“When_ I was weak? You say that like it was an isolated incident.”

“Isolated or not, you were taken advantage of.” Luigi spoke with a sort of definite truth to his words, as if there was nothing left to be said.

The Conductor, of course, had many words to be said. “I could have gotten stronger. I could have actually tried to dig myself out of that depressive slump I was in. But I chose not to!”

“Building strength isn’t that easy, especially if you were—“

“It still doesn’t excuse the pecking killing game!”

“I’m not excusing the killing game, I’m just acknowledging that you weren’t in control of your actions.”

The Conductor wanted to scream. This was so frustrating.

“...And that’s why I forgive you. Maybe not your actions, but you as a person. I forgive you.”

“You better pecking not.”

“I do.”

“I refuse to let you forgive me!”

“Too late for that.” Luigi smiled a little.

The Conductor gripped the feathers on the back of his head, wanting to tear them out. In fact, he would have, had Luigi not been there. But—

“Hey.”

The Conductor looked up. Luigi knelt down, and—

Suddenly, he was embraced.

It was like time had frozen in that moment. There were arms. Around him. Holding him gently. He was being hugged, but when was the last time that had happened? He honestly couldn’t remember. He didn’t want to push Luigi away, so he simply sat there in shock.

When he let go, the Conductor couldn’t help but wish it had lasted a little longer.

“Stop putting yourself down like that, okay? I know you’re a good person. I… can’t hold you accountable for something that wasn’t your fault.”

“But it was!” the Conductor snapped.

Luigi simply shook his head before rising and walking back to the door. Before he left, he turned back around and spoke:

“Everything’s going to be okay, alright? So hang in there.”

He left, closing the door behind him.

The Conductor was left in silence.

Luigi was wrong. So wrong. He deserved all the accountability in the world for his actions. They were his. Not the time piece’s. Even if he couldn’t control himself, it was still him. It was all him. How could he not see that?

He picked back up his mug of room temperature coffee and took a long sip.

…

⁂

The steady beep of a monitor.

Playing tug of war on his mind between unconsciousness and waking.

…

…

…

...Huh?

He could feel his legs.

And his arms.

And his head (it hurt).

The steady beep of a monitor.

…

No.

This wasn’t right.

This wasn’t right at all.

This…

…

…

The Conductor slowly felt himself fade into consciousness. It started with the feeling of life in his legs, spreading to the rest of his body. No longer did the deep, calm, infinite darkness envelop his mind. It had been disturbed by something.

Probably that beeping.

...What was that, anyway?

As much as the Conductor wanted to look, he didn’t want to open his eyes. He… couldn’t. If he did…

Everything he’d built up towards would be rejected. He’d have to acknowledge that he failed.

So he stayed. Trying and grasping to return to the confines of sleep.

It didn’t take long for him to fall back into slumber.

…

…

It didn’t last long.

He was woken by something else. It sounded like footsteps. Maybe a voice. Maybe two? Someone visited him.

It was enough to drag him once again from the abyssal void of sleep, but by the time he was once again conscious, he was sure the visitor was no longer there.

Unlike last time he’d regained consciousness, there wasn’t as much light in the room. He could tell that without even opening his eyes.

Maybe he should.

...No.

...No? What was the point in pretending anymore?

…

**_You failed._ **

_Might as well own up to it._

…

Slowly, the Conductor opened his eyes.

It was dark in the hospital, indicating that it was likely nighttime on the island. Everything seemed exactly the same as he remembered it. The same stark white walls and ceilings. The same hospital smell. The same scratchy, uncomfortable covers and gown.

He’d always hated hospitals.

Slowly, he began to sit up, but—

Suddenly, a jolting pain shot through his head like a bullet.

He immediately shut his eyes in pain, clutching his head and falling back. It hurt. Oh god, it hurt.

Yep. He was definitely alive.

It took a while, but eventually the Conductor gathered the strength to look around the room, despite his headache. His gaze landed on one thing.

_...Huh?_

Someone was… sitting in a chair beside his bed.

The shadows were thick, and at first it was difficult to make out who they were, but as soon as his vision adjusted—

_Wait, what?_

_...Luigi?_

Sure enough, sitting asleep in a chair adjacent to his bed was Luigi.

_...Was he waiting for me to wake up? No, he couldn't have been… right?_

Of course not. That was silly. Someone like Luigi had way better priorities than to be wasting time on him. But then why was he asleep in his hospital room?

The Conductor looked away from Luigi for a minute, instead opting to look out the window. It was nighttime, just like it was when he…

…

He figured he must have been asleep for at least a day.

He wished he hadn’t woken up at all.

He wished and he wished and he wished. He wished it every morning when he woke up.

And even when his wishes weren’t enough and he tried to take things into his own hands, he failed.

…

God.

He really was weak.


End file.
